When You Grow Up (FranceXReader)
by SoTerrible
Summary: From age 8 and up. Something like that. You grow up knowing him.


It was happening again. The screaming. The terrifying words. Sweat pours down your face as you cover your ears with your hands. They're both going to come in and hit you. You know it. You can't hear it, but you can feel it. The vibrations in the floor as they both stomp up the stairs. They were so big and powerful. You, on the other hand, are small. You are weak. You can't do anything to make them stop hitting you. You can feel it again. The vibrations of them banging on the door. You can hear some of the muffled yelling filter through your fingers and can make out words.

_ Open. The. Fucking. Door._

You can't do it. You can't. You have to get up, you have to get out. It must be because you are so scared, but you can't get up. Ears still covered, you make your way over to the window. Staring at it for a few moments, you can't think of anything else. The bangs on the door grow more into a frenzy. You glance back to see all of your furniture blocking that door. The knob twists menacingly, but they can't push it open.

"_Open the fucking door, now!"_

Your refusal is your tiny hands cranking the window open, desperately. You can't look back when you hear the screeching of the bed's legs on the floor. They are getting in. If you look back, they'll catch you. They'll start hitting you. They'll start screaming at you. You take a leap of faith from the second story and all the way down to the grassy lawn.

You land on your side and you hit your shin pretty hard. It hurts, it hurts a lot, but you can't let that stop you. You get up, throat and chest burning painfully. You are panting loudly as you start running down the lamp-lit streets.

You can make it to his house. You know you can. You don't need to stop. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't. They might catch up. They might find you. You can't look back. You can make it.

You feel like you are running forever. You pass many houses, startling dogs to bark, turning motion-censored lights on, passing by only one person staggering drunk by themselves during this early, early morning. Your bare feet slap on the concrete sidewalk, through well-kept lawns, and bang against wooden fences. You make your way through the dark, gravel alley. You can't help, but notice the smell of the dumpsters as you rush through the said alley.

Once your feet pass through the threshold of darkness, you feel a bit calmer. You wince as you feel the pain in your leg and notice it's swollen. You brush it off and catch your breath. You stand up straight, still panting. Your head swivels around, trying to remember which direction to take.

"Can't remember," you whisper to yourself, "can't remember. I can't remember," your hands grip at your hair tightly, pulling. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. Remember. Left.. Right? Which way!" your know crouched over hitting your head, trying to remember. "They're going to catch up. Just... Pick!" you whisper to yourself fiercely. You sit there for what feels like forever. No matter how hard you pound your skull with your fists, it doesn't produce look over to the right through squinted, angry eyes. You can see the lit up convenience store and remember. "Left.. Ok, left," you say, standing up and biting down on your hand hard. Your leg hurt. It hurt badly.

You are about to walk, when you swear you hear a faint calling of your name.

"(Name)! (Name), where are you!" no, you definitely hear it. You can feel yourself start shaking before you move on instinct. You had run so much, how did they catch up? It doesn't matter, even if you can't think or can't remember. You'll end up finding his house. You always do.

Through more neighborhoods, barking dogs, and passed some stores. It would never occur to you that you always ran through the worst part of the city. The dangers everyone always warned about never occurred to you. All you could think of was getting to his house. He understands. He takes care of you. He's always really nice. You know that everyone thinks he's weird. Maybe he is, you don't care. He's always better than them. He can't be that bad.

You end up right in front of his door. His house is so big. He has to have a room for you. He'd let you stay, right? He'll take care of you like he always does, right?

You knock on the door, softly.

"Mr. Bonnefoy?" Nobody answers. You are about to knock again, but the pain in your leg, stops you. It really stops you. You end up collapsing on the concrete steps, curled up.

All you can do is cry. Upon habit, you cover your mouth to stop from any sounds coming out. They might hear you. They might find you. You look up at the light, illuminating his porch. How it bounces off the concrete. How cruel, a spotlight for your pain. No... A spotlight for those who are searching to find you. It's no use. You can't stay here. If they pass by, they'll see you. They'll pick you off, right as you are on the doorstep(literally) of your sanctuary. You bite your tongue to silence your sobs as you crawl from the porch into the bushes, where you know nobody can see you.

You are silent as you watch the street. It is almost sunrise. You can see the skies start to light up. That's when you hear the front door open. You start to crawl out, assuming he's going to get his papers. You freeze when you hear a smooth voice.

"Last night was amazing," you hear a warm laugh from a woman's voice. You gulp, fingers digging into your nails into your leg. He's always alone. Who is this?

"Ohonhonhon, Ahh~ Next time, I'll make you scream louder," now you recognize his voice. You hear a thump before there was wet sloppy sounds. Your curiosity got the better of you and you crawl a bit, to get a peek. You see him, pressing this woman against the wall, his hand underneath her leg, lifting it up to his hips. Your eyes travel up to see them kissing. They were kissing pretty passionately at that. You freeze.

Oh god it hurt. It hurt so badly to see that. All the questions boiled down to why. Why didn't he do that with you? Is that normal? How come it's just her? Why weren't you good enough to do that with? Why weren't you the only one he talked to? He always talked about being lonely. He always said you were the high point of his day. So, why? You wanted to do that with him. You know 'they' do that when they aren't yelling. They seem so happy when they kiss, they aren't screaming or yelling at each other or you.

After a few more minutes of watching it, they slowed to a stop.

"Why not stay for longer?" he asks, his low voice making your belly turn to butterflies. "I'm all ready for another round, you?" The woman chuckles, her voice low as well.

"I can't. How about next week? You know I have work, Bonnefoy." The two embrace for a little while longer before he escorted her to her vehicle. You back away further into the bushes, now you wanted to leave here as well. You felt betrayed. You felt he was a liar. He was supposed to be your safety zone. He was supposed to be your hero. You see him smack her butt, before watching her get into her car and drive off. That made you sick and angry. He turns back and starts walking toward his house again, pulling his robe further closed while shivering. You hadn't realized it either, but you were shivering as well it was freezing. That whole time you had run here, it was hot and sweaty, but now that you had cooled down, the sweat chilled your body.

The movement caught his eyes and he stopped walking toward the house. France was puzzled for a moment, was there a raccoon in the bushes? They shouldn't be this deep into the city. He slowly walks closer and you notice he's looking at you.

You try to curl up further and hide more into them.

"Hello. Mr. Raccoon, what are you doing in the bushes?" his voice is very sweet. He puts a hand on his hip. "I'm very sorry, but you can't stay there, you must go." He raises his hands to shoo it away. When that didn't seem to work, he stepped closer and opened his robe, waving it to scare the critter off.

France heard a sob and knew he fucked up. He quickly closed his robe and rushed forward.

"Hey, hey, are you ok?" he asks, getting close, not exactly sure what or who he was talking to.

You two made eye contact and he stopped. "(Name)?" he questions.

"My leg hurts," you sob, no longer able to hold yourself back from crying openly.

"Ah, I'm sorry Ms. Raccoon, come out of there and we'll have a look," he says, playfully. He completely ignored that he almost exposed himself to a child. You won't move, you can't. He was with someone else. He was talking to someone else. He was only supposed to talk to you since he was the only one you could talk to. Why wasn't it the same?

"I c-can't," you whimper. You look at him and see his face turn into panic, but his voice remains calm.

"I guess, I have to go and get you, huh?" he says. He reaches his hands in and you want to let him take you in his arms, but something inside you says he betrayed you.

"Don't touch me!" you almost scream. His hands draw back in surprise.

"(Nickname), what's wrong?" he asks. "I didn't mean to open my robe at you, I'm sorry!" he says, "I can understand if you don't want me to touch you after seeing that. It was probably, pretty scary," he says, he wasn't completely naked underneath as he usually would have been, but his hard-on at that moment when he did was pretty apparent. That wasn't the case, though. He was touching that other woman in such a way, that you wanted him to touch you in, since he was always being close to you, but that level of intimacy eluded you. You spent all of the time you could get away, here. You just shivered and sobbed. "Can I at least get you a blanket, if you want to stay there?" he asks. When he gets no answer, he gets up.

"W-wait don't go!" you blurt out, hand shooting out from the bushes to reach for him. France looks down at the small hand trembling from beneath the foliage of the bush. He sits back down and let his hand slowly crawl toward yours. He was silently asking if he could hold you hand at least. You feel yourself calm down when his fingers slid into yours and his warm, large hand gently caressed yours.

"Are you cold?" he asks, sitting on his wet lawn, but not giving a fuck.

"Yeah," you answer.

"I won't leave you, but I can give you my robe, just don't be scared. I'm not going to do anything to you," he says.

"Ok." You feel his hand retreat from yours and you wanted to grab it back, but you let him take off his bathrobe and hand it to you through the plants.

So here it was, a broken, battered child hiding in the bushes of the country of love's house.

A man clad only in boxers, sitting on a wet lawn, staring out into the street. If anyone had known better, they would think he had a few mental issues. They sat there for quite a while, (name) trying to fall asleep, but unable due to the stinging pain in her leg.

"Are you ready to go inside?" he asks. You only press yourself further into the warm fabric. It smelled like him. It was a strong, but not entirely unpleasant scent.

"I can't move," your voice was calm now.

"I know. Is it ok if I reach in to pull you out?" he asks. He chuckles at your response, which was you holding your arms out. France grips your hands and you grab his as well. He slowly pulls you out, you yelp as your leg grinds on the ground. You feel so very safe and forget the jealousy of earlier, when he pulls you to his chest. He's holding you like a baby and it feels very right to you. You wish he was your dad. He felt more like a dad than... When you feel his arm in just about the same place as where his hand was on the other woman, you don't feel so jealous anymore. France turns and opens the door to his house.

"Who was that earlier?" you ask as you two pass through the door. France almost freezes when he shuts the door.

"Ahh," he seems embarrassed and you can see the blush form on his cheeks. Your grip on him tightens unconsciously. You liked this, seeing him blush. "She's a... colleague."

"Was she American?" you ask. He seems a bit surprised as he walked and set you down on the couch.

"Yes, actually. How could you tell?" he asks, kneeling down and lifting the robe to gauge your injury.

"She has a bit of an accent.. And the way she dresses. Like the American movie stars," you say. France lets out a breath.

"Well, you have a sharp ear... (Name) I have to touch your leg, ok? It's gonna hurt, but just bear with it ok?" he says. You frown and can feel your lip quiver. Your leg already hurt enough, chances of more pain did not seem like the best options. You just gulp and shut your eyes. "Here, just squeeze my arm," he says.

"Ow, ow, owowowow, ok ok, nononono please. Ow ow ow," you sob as he lifts the leg to examine it. After what seemed like forever, he stops. He puts it down and stands up. France scratches his head.

"How did you get this?" he asks and then everything was coming at him. "Come to think of it, why were you hiding in the bushes? And how long were you there for?" You sniffle, not wanting to tell him.

"I fell," you answer truthfully. You can see him through blurry eyes. He wasn't really buying it. You didn't want to lie to him. You wanted to feel better and you knew telling the truth would get you there, eventually. Your leg hurt really bad anyway.

"I can't help you if you don't tell me," he looks at you with compassionate eyes. Francis sits next to the couch and strokes your hair.

"f—from my window," you murmur. His hand was relieving some of the stress and panic, but it immediately stopped.

"(Name). Nothing bad will happen if you tell me the truth. How did you fall from your window?" he asks. It didn't make sense to him. If you fell out of your window, why did you show up in his bushes? Wouldn't you just be in the hospital? Or wouldn't your parents be taking care of you?

France knew you lived far from him. He didn't know exactly where you lived or what type of area. He knew from the clothes you usually wore, that you were well off, but this didn't make sense.

"I-I jumped," you were really sticking your neck out. Your small hands grab onto his on your head. You held it to your head.

That answer just confused him even more.

"Why?" he asks, looking at you with hard eyes. You couldn't see him because you moved his hand to your forehead. His rather large hands were big enough to cover your sight from him.

"I can't tell you, but I have an idea!" you sit up quickly, regret it, but you couldn't contain your happiness. As little kids brains do, yours immediately turned to something else to avoid trouble. "Why don't I live here with you!" you suggest with the biggest smile, holding his hand with both of yours. You see his head tilt and your expression immediately plummets. "Wait, wait, wait, before you say no!" you try to keep up your happy smile. "I can clean.. Try to cook... And I promise to study hard! I won't play, just be serious, too! That's what grown-ups like right?" your hands started shaking as they gripped his fingers. "That's what you like right?" your arms were now shaking violently as you held back your welling up tears.

"(Name)," the tone of his voice made your heart burn. It made your stomach sizzle.

"No!" you almost yell, refusing to believe it. He hadn't even answered "I'll make you want me here!" your grip tightened on him, but your tears were already spilling over. "I promise not to cry," you grit your teeth, pressing his knuckles to your brow. "S-ee?" your voice cracks, "See? Not crying! Hahaha," you laugh. You feel his other hand cup the side of your face.

"(Name), listen to me," you want to put your hands over your ears, just like you did whenever your parents wanted to come up to your room. You start crying hard. "(Name), look at me, please," he requests, voice calm.

"No..." you sob, "I'm not listening to you say no!" you can't feel your leg anymore, all the pain is deep within your chest.

"(Name), this isn't a place for children like you," he says, and you cry harder. You want to shove him away now and just leave.

"Is it because of what you were doing with that woman?" you ask. "I can do that just as easily!"

Shocked and quite frankly, embarrassed, France almost starts stuttering, "No, that isn't something you should do."

"Why not?! You are always nice, you always give me advice, you help me out with homework sometimes, and you actually listen to me. Why can't I do something nice for you?" you ask defiantly.

"That isn't something you do with someone my age or someone of your own age- Wait, wait. We're getting off track. (Name), why did you jump out of your window?" he asks.

You would answer that question, but you wouldn't know the exact impact of what you answered


End file.
